


Gonna Keep You Til Your Dying Day

by nothingelsematters



Series: Liar [5]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Deacury AND Maylor!, Deacury centric, Earl's Court 1977, Freddie's dangerous costumes, Liar, M/M, background Maylor, people being idiots, smoke and lights, the smut in this is cheesier than Deaky's toast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 18:18:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17105723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingelsematters/pseuds/nothingelsematters
Summary: Queen are riding high on a successful tour as they come to Earl's Court. Freddie's latest costume is causing a distraction for John, but it turns out there's something more going on behind the scenes, and he's not the only one with insecurities.





	Gonna Keep You Til Your Dying Day

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go! The fic for the Earl's Court 1977 performance of Liar (and bonus Now I'm Here!): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S_BrdHYmMlY
> 
> This one took a hard left turn into Angstville for some reason and would not return, and then a hard right into corny smutville, so, uh, it's a little different. *slightly nervous sweating*
> 
> Also, I made a tumblr! You can find it at nothingelsematterswrites.tumblr.com. Come yell at me about Deacury, Maylor, Queen in general, headcanons, everything!

“Ugh, I’m gonna roast in this,” Roger’s voice complained as he came into the little backstage area.

John turned and snorted in amusement. Roger was wearing a shirt. A black oversized thing, unbuttoned halfway down his torso.

“Yes, it looks so constricting,” he said drily.

“It’ll be too hot!” Roger insisted.

“Rog, literally the only way you could make that any more ventilating is if you didn’t wear a shirt at all.”

There was a beat of silence, before John hastily added,

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“At least let us get to the second part of the show before you start distracting Bri.”

“What’s distracting me?”

“Rog without a – my _god_ , Bri. Really?”

“How can you even _wear_ something like that?” Roger protested vociferously, though John didn’t miss the way his eyes followed Brian’s every movement.

“It’s comfortable,” Brian looked confused as he did a little twirl, showing off his new shirt; it was, John thought, rather similar to his old one, with the enormous batwings in white satin, though this time with black trim running through it in various interesting diagonals.

“Yeah, but you two must overheat terribly!”

John and Brian looked at each other. It was true that John, even in his white t-shirt-cream pants-blue waistcoat ensemble would break quite a sweat under the lights; but not enough to want to wear no shirt like Roger or…

Or…

John had always thought that one day, his brain would stop short-circuiting whenever Freddie looked particularly beautiful. He’d been very much mistaken on that front, for it kept happening, but he wasn’t going to complain.

Freddie had waltzed in in one of his new unitards, this one a black number with practically no front, a chunky belt, and sequins galore. His eyes were generously rimmed with black kohl and he looked…sinful.

John’s mouth was too dry to speak for a moment.

“Fred’s with me, it’s too hot for the sort of thing John and Bri are wearing, isn’t it?”

Freddie smiled. “But Rog, darling, you’ve forgotten that you sit right under the lights, and I move around all the time. These two don’t get the full heat, and they don’t move as much.”

Roger stuck his tongue out at Freddie, who chuckled again and flicked it. “Put that away, darling. Come, it’s show time.”

Roger sniffed and stalked on stage, nose in the air, but John was far too familiar with Roger’s pouts by now to worry that the drummer was seriously mad. Brian just shrugged, hooked up his guitar, and followed to his appointed place, leaving John and Freddie alone together.

John wanted to speak, wanted to tell Freddie how beautiful he looked, wish him luck for the night, but his mouth was still so dry he couldn’t form the words. Then his tech was tapping him on the shoulder, offering his jack, and when John looked up again, Freddie was already on stage, head up and shoulders back and _oozing_ confidence.

John grinned and followed.

*

Apart from a small coughing moment at the start of _Now I’m Here_ , brought on by those blasted smoke explosions – John could swear they were getting more explosive with every show and he worried one day they’d pack in too much gunpowder – he thought the show was going very well so far. They were all playing well, Freddie’s vocals were on point, the crowd was loud and excited.

John was relaxed and feeling good, good enough that when Brian crossed to his part of the stage during his solo in that song, he made sure to tilt his hips and stare as he played, enjoying teasing Roger behind him (who was pulling faces at Freddie). This was his favourite part of their shows, when he stopped worrying about everything and they could have just been four friends mucking around in a studio.

_Well…a little more than “friends”, I suppose._

Freddie strutted back towards him, and John had to hastily look down into his bass; one of the shoulder straps of Freddie’s unitard had fallen off and he looked more ravishingly sensual than ever. The other one was slipping; John’s mind was full of his imaginings of going over and sliding it off slowly, his fingers slipping down the front of the spandex outfit…

John coughed again in surprise at the smoke explosions at the end of the song. Okay, they really had to do something about that. He had no idea how Roger was able to keep his countenance given they basically blew up in his face.

The lights went down and John hastily ran a hand over his strings, testing how wet they were and their tension. He didn’t dare look at Freddie directly, but a few sideways glances showed him that Freddie had slipped the shoulder back up, so he was now dressed properly. John caught his eye and smiled at him, and Freddie winked back, with a knowing grin. He knew _exactly_ why John loved their next song.

And then the lights came back up, and Roger’s cowbells were starting, and John blinked in surprise, because the drummer was now very much shirtless. Brian almost tripped over his cable at the sight and John laughed inside, before nearly tripping himself as Freddie came past him with _that damned tambourine._

It didn’t take John long to notice that Freddie’s shoulder had slid down again, sliding down over his bicep. He wondered if there was even any point trying to hide what that did to him anymore.

Even as John retreated to the drum step, he noticed Freddie following him, giving him a strange look that was a mixture of scorching and something else that John couldn’t identify. He seemed to be making extra sure he was moving to John’s rhythm, that John was watching him, even as he moved away to start the song properly.

The lights went down, and John adjusted his volume just slightly; he needed a little more loudness for this song. When they came back up, he immediately noticed that Freddie had slid the strap back over his shoulder, and wondered if they were annoying the singer.

Nevertheless, he still made an appealing sight. He’d cut his hair recently, and John found himself fascinated by the way it curled at the nape of his neck, the contrast stark against the warm tones of his skin…

He was so lost in thought that he nearly missed the jump into the next musical break; but the look Freddie gave him as he picked up the tambourine again was so fierce that John knew they were going to have a good time tonight. Still, it was Brian that Freddie sidled up to, losing his shoulder strap again as he did, fiercely playing against his thigh, and John let just a little possessiveness creep into his stance, his playing, his expression, knowing Freddie loved it when he got a bit jealous.

And then Freddie lost his other shoulder, and it took all of John’s self-control not to jump his bones right there, even as he watched his lover quickly shrug it back on, dancing towards him in an almost teasing manner. He knew how much John loved the tambourine.

John moved down from the steps, up behind Freddie for their favourite part. The one time he didn’t care if people heard his voice. But there was something different about this one. As John sang his first “all day long”, Freddie leaned backwards, until he was actually resting his weight on John’s shoulder, and for the briefest moment, he seemed to sag there.

They didn’t usually physically touch too much during this part, if only for the fear that they might lose their heads completely, but the way Freddie leaned on him had different sorts of feelings racing through John, the mad desire to take Freddie away from the crowds and wrap him in blankets and feed him chicken soup and cuddle him. And there was something vulnerable in his lover’s eyes as he looked back up at John, only stoking those feelings higher.

But then Freddie’s next line came out stronger, a harsher growl, and John wondered if he’d imagined it.

*

As happened more often now, John took his time in the dressing room, unbuttoning his waistcoat carefully, changing into his favourite pair of jeans, making sure his bass was packed away right. Freddie didn’t come barging in, so John went looking for him once he was changed, and, surprised, couldn’t find him anywhere.

“Have you seen Freddie?” he asked one of the roadies.

“Yeah, he went back to the hotel already.”

That made John frown; it was unusual for Freddie to go back alone, he usually waited for John at least, or for Roger or Brian. But the other two were still here; Roger’s dressing room door was shut, and John didn’t need much imagination to guess what was going on in there.

“Can you call a car for me, please?”

He spent the whole ride to the hotel thinking over their show, and his mind kept returning to that part of _Liar_ where Freddie had rested on him. Some bee was in his bonnet, that was for sure. He’d better talk with Freddie, make sure he was okay.

He arrived back to their serviced apartment to find the living room dark; there was a dim light from under their bedroom door. John flicked on the light so that Brian and Roger didn’t trip over when they got back, pulled out his waistcoat, and walked over to their bedroom, hanging the garment on the door handle as he went inside; even if he and Freddie weren’t going to fuck tonight, if they were going to have a discussion he didn’t want to be disturbed.

He turned to the bed and his heart nearly broke.

Freddie was wearing his warmest, cuddliest pyjamas, and he was curled up in a ball, kohl smeared all over his face, eyes red-rimmed from crying. He looked up as John entered, and John could clearly see the tear-marks cutting through the makeup and sweat.

“Oh, _Freddie_ , love,” and John almost threw himself onto the bed, scrambling over it to scoop the singer up in his arms. Freddie began to shake, and then, unable to hold back, broke into trembling sobs against John’s shoulder.

“Shh, shh, my love, my sweet one, it’s all right,” John soothed, running a hand over Freddie’s back in small circles. “It’s okay, I’m here, I’m here.”

He felt Freddie’s hand close in the front of his shirt, and pulled him closer, trying not to cry himself; Freddie was always so positive that to see him cry was devastating.

Outside the room, John heard the bang of the door and then the sounds of Brian and Roger returning; he heard a high-pitched moan before another bang of a door signaled that they’d disappeared into their room. Against his shoulder, John heard Freddie’s breath begin to even out; with a little twisting, he managed to grab the box of tissues from their nightstand, and when Freddie finally pulled back, John began wiping his face tenderly, clearing away the salt of sweat and tears and the smudges of black.

“All right,” he said quietly, “do you want to talk about it, sweetheart?”

Freddie swallowed, his fingers twisting together.

“John,” he said quietly, in a small broken voice that was like a knife through John’s heart, “do you love me?”

John felt his eyes go very wide, and a jumble of emotions tumbled into his chest, hurt and sadness among them. How could Freddie believe otherwise?

“Of course I do, Fred. Of course I do. I love you so much. I _love_ you.” John felt his voice rising as fear took over. What was Freddie saying? Had Freddie found someone else? Was this Freddie breaking up with him? “I _love you_ , so much, Freddie, please, I love you-!”

Freddie’s face turned an odd shade of red; he wouldn’t meet John’s eye, and he half turned away.

“Freddie, please…what happened? What’s this about?”

Freddie swallowed hard. “I saw…I saw you with that girl. You’ve been seeing her a lot, lately. You kissed her cheek, you smiled at her, your hand on her back. And then…some of the backstage people today…they were saying…that you were sweet, and lovely, and deserved someone sweet and lovely. Like…like her.”

John was speechless. His brain couldn’t connect all the dots. Yes, he needed to explain to Freddie, but why this desolate sadness? It couldn’t be just that, could it?

Freddie seemed to take John’s silence for a prompt to continue.

“And later…I heard them talking about _me_. They said…they said the way I moved…when my costume started falling off…that I was the stage…the stage…” Freddie licked his lips and swallowed, almost unable to get the words off his tongue. “The stage whore. That I’d obviously been around with so many people. And…and you didn’t speak to me before the show, wouldn’t look at me…and I thought…” Freddie closed his eyes, his voice dropping to a whisper so quiet John had to strain to hear it. “I thought…someone so sweet and lovely deserves better than…than someone they call a whore.”

John had always prided himself on being a calm man, never given to the tempers that seemed to ensnare the other three. But the hot rage that swept through him now shocked him. Who _dared_ say such awful things to his Freddie? He would find out, and he would make them sorry!

But calm John was still there, and that voice in his head insisted, _no, no, Freddie needs you now, he needs the truth from you, he needs to know you won’t leave him_.

John had never been good with speaking his emotions, had always told Freddie he loved him, but never told him the full depth of his feelings. Maybe that was a mistake.

“Freddie,” he said quietly, “I need you to hear me out on this. Will you, my love? Please?”

Freddie nodded silently, his eyes dark pools of heartbreak and tears as he looked up at John.

“Yes, I have been with Veronica a lot lately,” John began. “She’s a friend of my family’s. A nice girl, yes, sweet and lovely, as you say. Her girlfriend thinks so too.” Freddie’s expression changed, his eyes widening. “Yes, I think my family would like it if I married her. But I love you, Freddie. And she has her own love. We see each other regularly because we’re _friends_ , and _only_ friends. If I kiss her cheek and put a hand on her back, it is to protect her from those who wouldn’t understand why a girl as beautiful as her is unwed.”

He took a deep breath.

“As to today…my sweetheart, I didn’t talk to you before the show, because I _couldn’t speak_. You do that to me, my heart. You were so beautiful and alluring in that costume that my mouth just stopped working. If I didn’t look at you during the night, it was because I was afraid I would lose all control and kiss you right there.” John kissed Freddie’s hair, and let his hand slide over his chest in a casual caress; Freddie’s breathing shifted slightly, and John felt him move closer.

“Those _fools_ who spoke about you don’t know what they’re talking about. They are probably simple-minded idiots who haven’t two brain cells to rub together. They’re lying, my love. Please don’t let their words hurt you. I love the way you move on the stage. I love your costumes. I love the way you invite the attention, teasing, letting them look, but knowing that only _I_ am allowed to touch. And Roger and Brian,” he corrected, “but they also touch me, and never do they touch you the way I do. You’re not a whore, Freddie, my love, and you know it. You’re perfect, and beautiful, and kind and generous and loving, and I will belong to you until the day we die.” John finished with fierce conviction, wanting Freddie to believe him, eyes stamped into his lover’s.

A flush crept over Freddie’s cheeks, and then suddenly John was being kissed, hard and hot and desperate, and he gave himself up to it willingly.

“That was unusually eloquent of you, love,” Freddie whispered. “But I need – I want…”

“Anything,” John gasped out as Freddie’s hands slid under his shirt, lifting it over his head. “Anything you want.”

“I want to feel you,” Freddie’s mouth was on his neck, the words hot bursts of breath against his skin. “I want to fuck you and hear you beg and say my name.”

“Freddie,” John sighed, his fingertips hooking into the waistband of his pants. “My love, my sweetheart, my Freddie.” He could feel the shivers running down Freddie’s spine and pushed his hips upward, rubbing their erections together, the extra friction of two pairs of pants sending frissions of delight up his back.

Freddie’s lips closed over a nipple, and John let a strangled moan escape, his fingers losing all their dexterity in that moment. Freddie’s fingernails were raking across the skin at his sides, down to his hips, and John knew that he would have the long red marks for a day or two.

The button on John’s jeans slowed Freddie down momentarily; John took the opportunity to draw him back up for a kiss. This was lingering, slower, the stroke of Freddie’s tongue in his mouth; John savoured it all. He unbuttoned Freddie’s pyjama top and pushed it aside, running his fingers down over the planes of that fine chest.

There was a pause, then, while Freddie removed his top and John wriggled out of his jeans; he hadn’t put on any underwear tonight, knowing that he might want fast easy access. Then he reached out and hooked his fingers back through the waistband of Freddie’s pants, pulling them down slowly, reverently, admiring every inch of skin they revealed.

Freddie leaned down to kiss him again, and John put his arms around Freddie’s neck and pulled until the other man fell down on top of him, their skin pressed together, and yes, this was home, the world, the universe for John, just Freddie and his warmth. He felt one of Freddie’s thighs between his own, and bucked upwards against it, at the same time parting his legs further in invitation.

And then Freddie was chuckling, his smile full and wide, and John felt warmth run through every part of his body.

“You’re greedy, my dear,” he teased, lifting John’s wrist to nibble on the erogenous zone of his forearm; John squirmed in delight, trying seek friction on Freddie’s leg and being denied as it was shifted slightly out of his reach. “I love you. So lovely and sweet…you taste sweet,” he added as he liked a stripe along the soft skin.

John’s head was hazy, full of want and need, and he couldn’t manage much more than a sigh of “Freddie…” He never realised how much he could want a person. Calm John nudged him, reminded him that he should probably voice that, since not voicing his feelings had messed things up before.

“Sweetheart…make me feel…like…no-one makes me feel,” he managed to stumble out, and Freddie’s smile grew warmer, gentler.

“Yes?” he said softly, his fingers trailing up John’s inner thigh, sending shivers of pleasure through him. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” John tried to focus on speaking. “Want…to be yours. Always. Never…never with anyone else.”

A lube-soaked finger pressed against his hole, and John’s cry made Freddie’s eyes go dark.

“Always?”

“Always,” John breathed back, making sure his gaze was fixed on Freddie’s. “Make…make me yours.”

Freddie slipped his finger inside, and John pushed down on it, desperate now, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to be as close to Freddie as possible.

“God…” and now Freddie’s voice was starting to take a ragged edge, losing its cool composure. “God…you’re so beautiful…”

“Freddie,” John whined. “Please…please…want to be yours…”

Freddie slipped a second finger in, working John open, enjoying the gasps, cries and whines that left John’s throat as he twisted his fingers. How could this beauty, this sweet, innocent, lovely man be his?

John saw the doubts starting to creep back into Freddie’s eyes, and reached up, grabbing Freddie’s hair and pulling him down for another kiss. Then he pushed Freddie back a little, resting their foreheads together so Freddie couldn’t look anywhere but John’s eyes.

“Please Freddie,” John whispered. “Make me yours. Only yours.”

Freddie pulled back to prepare himself, and found John’s legs hooked around his waist. Laughing a little, he let himself be pulled in, and then with a practiced motion, pushed his hips forward until he was fully sheathed, letting out a long, low moan as he felt John’s walls clench around his cock.

“Ohhhhh,” John sighed, like his world was complete, and Freddie couldn’t help but lean down and bite into John’s neck, sucking hard at the skin, knowing he’d leave a bruise but unable to care. John’s hips moved underneath him, and Freddie let him set the pace, completely lost in this world that was just the two of them.

“Freddie, Freddie, Freddie,” John chanted softly, his back arching up as he moved. He could feel Freddie’s mouth at his neck, and dug his fingers into the skin at his hips, knowing he’d leave little half-moon marks. Leaving his mark, he thought dreamily.

Then the angle shifted, and John felt Freddie’s cock drag over that sensitive spot inside him, and he couldn’t stop the cry that left him, the wild movement of his body. Freddie answered, repeating the movement, one hand sliding between them to grip John firmly, stroking him hard.

They chased each other for their satisfaction, then, each determined to make the other break first. It was John who did, Freddie’s name on his lips like a prayer; he followed moments later, a drawn-out moan of John’s name that seemed to settle into John’s very soul.

Freddie let himself collapse on top of John, uncaring of the mess between them, and smiled against his skin as he felt warm, strong arms come up around him. How had he ever doubted this? John would keep him safe. John would drive away those words.

John wanted nothing more than to lie there like this forever, but the come drying between them was making him itch a little, and Freddie was heavy, for all his thinness. The tissue box should be there somewhere.

“John?”

“Yes?” There it was; he managed to grab a few tissues and made a half-hearted effort at wiping them down, limbs heavy and sleep now starting to drag at them.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For…for doubting you. For listening to other people.”

John met Freddie’s eyes, and smiled warmly, remembering.

“You’re not the only one who does. _Plain ol’ Deaky_ , remember?”

That drew a smile onto Freddie’s face, and he leaned in to kiss John again, sweetly, tenderly.

“Silly blind fools.”

“A universal constant, apparently,” John tossed the tissues somewhere over his shoulder and drew Freddie close to snuggle. Somehow Freddie had grabbed the quilt; they wrestled it up over themselves, and John felt warm and safe, a cocoon where only they existed.

“I think I’d like to meet Veronica. If that’s okay.”

“I’ll introduce you next time I see her,” John promised, his fingers stroking the midnight black hair, tangling in the curls. “You’ll love her.”

Freddie smiled and curled closer to him.

“I love you, John. As long as you want me, I’m yours. Forever.”

John did his best to let his emotions show, and kissed Freddie slowly.

“I love you too, Freddie. I’ll be yours until the day we die.”

He reached over, slightly awkwardly, and managed to flick the switch for the lamp; darkness fell, and the only sound was their breathing, the only feeling their skin entwined, their hearts beating as one.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the last performance based Liar fic! *sadface* Unless by chance someone finds another live recording I haven't seen yet. If you do, drop it into the comments or my tumblr askbox!
> 
> But it's not the end of the series! I've got a Christmas Day surprise coming for you all (which is partly the reason this was late; Roger in the Christmas Day surprise kept clamouring to write it first). And a few more little stories planned that won't be performance-based but will tie into the series. Hope we can keep it going a little longer!
> 
> Meanwhile, I wanted to say thanks for everyone who's read, commented, kudos'd, bookmarked and followed along! I've been completely overwhelmed by all your love and support along the way! *blowing kisses*


End file.
